The Challenge
by Veni Vidi Vichi
Summary: During a drunken night of bonding, Arthur challenges his friends to something quite interesting, they must all find someone to be in love with, and quick.  What are the knights of the round table to do?
1. Introduction

Hey everybody, this is Libros, back from the dead! This is my first Merlin fanfic ever, and it's set right after season three. Those of you who have seen parts of season four will realize I'm not following canon, so no spoilers here unless you haven't seen up to season three! The basic story line is going to be matching an OC with each of the knights. And don't worry, it will be a different OC for each knight, no polyandry here!

Merlin stood to the side of the practice field, watching the antics of his new friends. Arthur and Lancelot were facing off with the other four, the group of them earning envious glances from the other knights. Not only were they fighting well, they appeared to be merely playing with each other. None of the other knights could fight that way.

"All right," Arthur exclaimed after having just 'killed' Elyon. "We can be done for the day."

"Finally! I've been waiting to go the tavern all day! There's a pretty wench working there that is all for giving me my drinks at a discounted price."

"At least you can pay for them this time," Arthur teased Gwaine, cuffing him on the shoulder.

"Oi – can you not get over that?" Gwaine complained, as the others laughed.

Their uniforms were all dirty and in need of a wash, the red cloth that went over their chain mail was brown in some spots, and Merlin was thankful he'd only be in charge of getting Arthur's gleaming Camelot Red for the next day.

"About that tavern," Percival put in quietly. "Why don't we all go? We can make it a thing for the knights of the round table."

It wasn't often that Percival voiced his own ideas, and most of them, other than Lancelot, who had known him the longest, had never heard him do so. They all stopped short, leaving Percival and Lancelot to walk a step or two ahead. Merlin let out a quiet chuckle, but not loud enough for him to get their attention.

"That sounds fine to me," Lancelot agreed before casting a look back at Arthur. "That is, if the Prince agrees."

"I agree. And Merlin?"

"What?" Merlin asked, jumping at the sound of being addressed. He'd already begun to gather up the remnants of the knight's practice, expecting to remain forgotten.

"Leave those for someone else," Arthur commanded. "After we freshen up, we're all going to the Dancing Boar."

A while later, all six of the young men were assembled at the main doors of the castle. Merlin and Arthur were the last to arrive, bickering over which one of them had been the one to make the other late.

"If you weren't such a blockhead-"

"If you weren't such a lazy-"

"I hate to interrupt," Elyon said, not sounding the least bit sorry, "but we have a night of bonding ahead of us, do we not?"

Properly chastised, Merlin and Arthur merely shoved each other the entire walk to the Dancing Boar. It was already noisy when they entered, but everyone quieted at their entrance.

"Come on, back to your talking!" A loud man, presumably the tavern keep, called out.

The noise resumed as they took their seats around a small, round table that happened to be sitting unused in the corner of the room. A quiet looking young woman approached their table, carrying large tankards for everyone. Gwaine caught her arm as she placed his on the table.

"And does my usual discount go to everybody?"

She bit her lip and shook her head solemnly.

"No, I am not my sister. We do not share the same fondness of you."

Pulling her arm out of his grasp, the girl walked away with her head lowered, much to the merriment of Gwaine's companions. She came and went many times that night, keeping the tankards full. Merlin's had not received much attention, as he didn't think it would be a good idea for someone with as many secrets as him to get drunk. He'd discovered early in his life that he did not hold his liquor well.

"Feeling as if you're the babysitter?" Lancelot asked, leaning over so that only Merlin would hear.

"Are you?" Merlin retorted, having noticed that Lancelot was also refraining from drinking too much.

"Someone is going to have to lug these idiots home," Lancelot answered, gesturing to their very inebriated friends. The fondness in his voice revealed why he would be willing to go to such lengths to ensure the safety of 'idiots.'

Merlin turned his attention to them, and silently agreed with Lancelot. Gwaine was already laughing too loudly, Leon was trying to pick a fight with Elyon over who could drink more, Arthur had the dangerous look on his face that meant he was getting ideas, and Percival . . . well, Percival was looking ready to take a nap.

"Oi you lot, I have had a realization!" Arthur exclaimed, standing on his feet shakily.

"Have you now?" Merlin asked. Arthur leveled a not so steady glare at Merlin before continuing,

"I have something the rest of you don't!"

He was met with several questioning glances.

"I have a woman. So now you all need to get one!"

With that, Arthur fell back into his chair and began to doze.

'Oh dear,' Merlin thought helplessly. 'Maybe I shouldn't have allowed the future king of Camelot, who happens to be under a lot of pre-crowning stress, have an unlimited number of drinks.'

Well, that's my attempt at a funny chapter! From now on I'll be posting a new chapter every Sunday until the story is done. Next weeks featured knight is Sir Leon, so I hope you'll tune in and enjoy!


	2. Lady Lucinda

Hey everybody, this is Libros, back from the dead! This is my first Merlin fanfic ever, and it's set right after season three. Those of you who have seen parts of season four will realize I'm not following canon, so no spoilers here unless you haven't seen up to season three! The basic story line is going to be matching an OC with each of the knights. And don't worry, it will be a different OC for each knight, no polyandry here!

I'll leave that first paragraph up, just in case some of you chose to skip the first chapter! Thank you guys so much for your reviews and views. Originally I was planning on publishing the next chapter in a week, but I decided to do it this Sunday instead. I hope you enjoy. And to answer one question, this story will have a chapter for all the knights, and Merlin.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Merlin. If I did, Bradley would have his shirt off even more then he does now. :P So no, I don't own it.

Chapter One: Lady Lucinda

Lady Lucinda had never been the type of courtier to fawn over Prince Arthur. Catching a peak at him was not the reason she was often found in the throne room, watching the goings on of the castle. No, she found the Knights of Camelot much more her type. Not that she would say anything to them, of course, she'd rather jump from the tallest tower than do that!

"Lucinda, are you coming with me or not?" Lady Marise's voice was loud in Lucinda's quiet room. The castle was large enough for all of the regulars of the castle to have a room to themselves, a fact for which Lucinda was grateful. No matter how much she loved Lady Marise, she needed somewhere she could be alone sometimes. Today, however, was not one of those days.

"My lady," Moira, her personal servant spoke up before she could follow Marise. "Don't let Lady Marise bully you into doing something you don't want to do. If you want to stay quiet about liking Sir-"

"Moira!" Lucinda cried, covering the servant's mouth, as if the very walls had ears. "I thought we agreed to never talk about that."

Moira rolled her bright blue eyes and pulled Lucinda's hand off her mouth.

"I'll never understand you. Never mind then."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us to watch them practice? I'm sure it will be fun. Maybe Anna and Helana could come as well."

"I don't think any of us are going to be able to slip away today. And I've never found the knights that interesting anyway."

"But there are new ones," Lucinda insisted. Moira shooed her out with her hand,

"Have fun my lady."

Lucinda kept her eye on 'her' knight as she and Marise stood watching them practice from a low stone wall. They were leaning against it casually, but Lucinda's heart was racing.

"Are you sure we're allowed to do this?"

"I'm sure Lucinda. Morgana and I did it all the time."

"I'm not sure if that's comforting or not," Lucinda said quietly, thinking about the time not so long ago that Morgana had been crowned queen. It had not been a happy time for Lucinda and her friends. Marise must have sensed the direction of her thoughts, for she threw her arm around her friend.

"It's over now," she reassured. "You're free to ogle your knight without worry of his coming execution. Now you just have to work up the courage to say hello."

"No thank you," Lucinda squeaked, her pale face going as red as Marise's hair. "He doesn't even know my name!"

"Because you've never introduced yourself," Marise protested. "Ooh, it looks like they're taking a break. Maybe one of them will come over here."

Lucinda's muscles clenched in horror at the thought, and she prepared to flee. What Marise said was true, they seemed to be taking a break. 'Her' knight's blonde hair was clinging to his forehead, and he was eagerly wiping it with a wet cloth that one of the other knight's had handed to him.

So caught up was she that Lucinda didn't notice the dark haired knight approaching them.

"Can I help you ladies?" He asked, leering at them both. Lucinda could feel her face going red.

"Gwaine, leave Lady Lucinda and Lady Marise alone," Sir Leon said, approaching him from behind and wrapping an arm around Gwaine's neck companiably. Gwaine wriggled free and scampered back to the other knights. Sir Leon turned to Lucinda and Marise, but Lucinda couldn't meet his eyes. "I hope he didn't bother you ladies."

"Oh, you know Lucinda," Marise exclaimed. "She's just all red 'cause he looked at her when he spoke."

"Marise!" Lucinda hissed, glaring at her friend.

"Leon, come over here and teach Elyon the knight's code on challenges!"

"Sorry ladies, but when the Prince calls, I must jump," Sir Leon apologized. "I'll see you again sometime."

"Lucinda!" Marise squealed as soon as he was out of earshot. "He was looking at you that whole time! And he knew your name!"

"Marise, you must be dreaming, because he'd never look at me over you."

Lucinda focused on the embroidery that she was carrying, trying to ignore any looks she was attracting. She was going to deliver this flowery embroidery to King Uther or she was going to get pleasantly told to go away trying! Lucinda might not be a huge fan of King Uther's policies, but he was her sovereign and she didn't want him to languish in his rooms with nothing to look at.

She was so focused on not noticing the world around her that she walked straight into an open door. With a ladylike shriek, she tumbled to the floor in a tangle of cloth.

"Lady Lucinda!"

The male voice had Lucinda's ears turning red before she even looked up to see the face belonging to the hand that was pulling her to her feet.

"Hello Sir Leon," she whispered, trying to retain some sense of dignity. "Thank you for helping me to my feet."

"Lucinda," his familiar use of her name made her shuffle the embroidery from her right hand to the left. "Is there a reason you never look me in the face?"

Lucinda lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Because you're a knight?"

"Lucinda, you seem perfectly capable of looking Arthur in the eyes, so that can't be it. And you've known me just as long as you've known him, so it isn't a lack of familiarity."

"I. . .I . . ."Lucinda struggled to get out what she wanted to say. "I think of you differently than I do Arthur."

"Do you now?" Sir Leon's eyes brightened at her words. "And here I thought you didn't like me."

"I wouldn't want you to think that!"

"So, you like me then?" Sir Leon asked. "The knight who seems to have danger written on his forehead?"

"But you're the lucky knight," Lucinda whispered. "You always survive the danger."

"The lucky knight," Sir Leon mulled it over in his mind. "I like that. I've survived too many dangers to count, and opening that door when I did just proves I'm lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it means that I get to speak to you."

"Sir Leon, are you flirting with me?" Lucinda asked, letting her pleasure show on her face to counter the reproof in her voice.

"I just might be Lucinda, but really, if I'm going to be flirting with you and calling you Lucinda, I must insist you call me Leon."

"I think I could do that," Lucinda replied quietly, taking the hand he extended to her, "Leon."

Well, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. And if you didn't like Lucinda's character, don't worry, All the OCs are different and have their own personalities. Please review if you wish, it makes me happy when you choose to take the time!


	3. Lady Marise

Hey everybody, this is Libros, back from the dead! This is my first Merlin fanfic ever, and it's set right after season three. Those of you who have seen parts of season four will realize I'm not following canon, so no spoilers here unless you haven't seen up to season three! The basic story line is going to be matching an OC with each of the knights. And don't worry, it will be a different OC for each knight, no polyandry here!

I'll leave that first paragraph up, just in case some of you chose to skip the first chapter! Thank you guys so much for your reviews and views. Unfortunately this week, it's been mostly views and not so many reviews. I'm hoping that's just because Lucinda's not a compelling character to you. So please, if you have anything to say about the story, good or bad, please review!

Disclaimer: Sorry all you sue happy lawyers, I'll bow to copyright laws and say that I do indeed not own Merlin.

Chapter Two: Lady Marise

Marise knew where to find the knights she was looking for. They'd commandeered a room near their practice field so that they could 'freshen' up before heading back into the main part of the castle. Only delivering a message from Lucinda could make her go anywhere near the place. It was one thing to watch them practice, it was another thing entirely to invade their domain.

Knocking sharply on the door, she waited for someone to answer. There was laughter and rustling in the room, and so she was surprised when the door was briskly opened by the same dark haired man who'd accosted Marise just a few weeks ago. He was shirtless, as were half of the men inside the room.

"Leon's expecting you," he said, and before she could ask why he'd be expecting her he called out, "Leon, your girl is here!"

"That's Sir Leon to you Gwaine!" He called back jovially.

"And he has the wrong girl," Marise said, boldly stepping into the room. All the shirtless men quickly found shirts to put on, other than Gwaine, who remained where he stood by the door. "I'm just here to deliver a message from Lucinda. She wants you to know that she'll be meeting you at the Dancing Boar tonight, not here."

"Going to the Dancing Boar huh," Gwaine commented. "I like that place."

"I'm sure you do, just like you enjoy every other bar in Camelot" Marise said, moving to leave the room. Gwaine's arm shot out to stop her. "Excuse me, Sir Gwaine, but I have places to be."

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"Did it hurt when they kicked you out of he–" Marise cut herself off. "Just let me pass Gwaine."

"Only if you tell me your name."

"For heaven's sake Gwaine, let the girl pass!" Elyon exclaimed.

"My name is Marise," she hissed, and he bowed and let her pass him.

Marise was about to turn the corner when Gwaine caught up with her, complete with a dark blue shirt covering his very muscled chest.

"And how are you doing today Lady Marise?"

"Well, I was doing better before a stuck up knight decided to irritate me."

"I am not stuck up," Gwaine protested.

"And why in Camelot would you think I was Lucinda?"

"It's not my fault!" He exclaimed, his voice climbing to meet hers. "I just knew Leon was dating one of you two! It's not my fault I assumed it would be the more attractive girl!"

"Did you just call my best friend unattractive?"

"I was just trying to give you a compliment!"

"Well maybe you should try a little harder next time!"

"If there is a next time!"

"Oh, I hope there isn't!" Marise cried, finally reaching her room so that she could slam her door in his face.

"I'll see you at the Dancing Boar tonight!" Gwaine yelled loud enough that it would reach her through the door.

"In your dreams!" She yelled back, turning to plop onto her bed, finding instead two girls already sitting there. "Oh, hello Moira, Helana."

Their eyes were wide and they both looked a tad bit frightened.

"Um, were you and Sir Gwaine having a fight Marise?" Helana asked.

"And here I was thinking you liked the guy," Moira commented with a snort.

"I think I do," Marise admitted, collapsing gracefully onto her bed next to the two servant girls, who both looked at her with comic confusion. "Not that I'd ever let Gwaine know. It would swell his head. It would be better for both of us if I stuck to the insults."

"So you're going to let his ego get in the way of a possibly humbling relationship? Look at Gwen and Arthur's relationship. It sure humbled him."

Marise nodded thoughtfully, considering Helana's comment. She took the moment to let out a stretch and a yawn before asking,

"So why are you guys staking out my room?"

"We intend to spy on Lucinda and Sir Leon tonight," Moira informed Marise.

"Maybe spy isn't the right word," Helana corrected. "We're just going to observe them, that's all. Just to make sure he's acting the gentleman."

"Luce will kill us if she finds out," Marise mused. A Morgana like grin crept upon her face. "Let's do it."

It wasn't long until Marise, Helana, and Moira were sitting at a table in the Dancing Boar. Anna was serving that night, so she was weaving in and out of the tables to deliver both food and alcohol to the customers.

"They're going to get here soon, right?" Marise complained. "If Gwaine comes and I'm still here he might actually think I came for him."

"Are you telling me that he didn't influence your decision at all?" Helana challenged, arching a delicate eyebrow.

"I am here to spy on Luce and that is-"

"Hush, here they come," Moira interrupted, her sharp eyes trained on the door.

Marise turned slightly so that she could watch Leon escort Lucinda to a table in the tavern closest to the musician who was plucking away at an old ballad. Anna crept over to them to take their orders, her shoulder's hunched as if to protect herself from the lecherous stares of the men in the room. Marise would never understand why such a shy girl as Anna would agree to work as a barmaid in her parent's tavern instead of a cook.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Anna wandered over to the table she was sharing with her friends.

"He seems to be treating her as a gentleman should," she whispered. "Do you guys really think you need to spy on them anymore?"

"Of course we do," Marise answered, before Anna could influence the opinions of her companions. "This is their first official time courting and so it is our job as her closest friends to make sure it goes well. Think of us like chaperones."

"Some chaperones we'd make," Moira muttered as Anna walked away, shaking her head. "Look at what's going on over there."

Marise turned her attention to their table to find a blushing Lucinda leaning over the table to brush a kiss against Leon's cheek.

"So?" She asked, thinking of all the times she and Morgana had played kissing games with the other young people of the court. "What's the big deal?"

"You know how shy Lucinda is. She may not be as bad as Anna, but a kiss on the cheek would mean a lot more to her than it would to you Marise."

"Lady Marise! You're actually here!"

Marise groaned as Gwaine sauntered over to her table, a slight redhead tucked under his arm. Leon and Lucinda both turned to his voice, and Lucinda frowned when she saw her friends.

"There goes our cover," Helana complained. "Guess it's time to retreat."

They stood and went to leave, but Gwaine put his arm, the one that wasn't holding the girl, out to stop them.

"Leaving so soon?" He asked his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's late, and you should probably have an escort. I willingly offer my services. I'm sure that Marisa here won't mind waiting for me."

"Mary," the girl corrected. "My name is Mary."

"No thanks," Marise answered, glowering at his bearded face. "This isn't the first time we've walked back late at night. And we wouldn't want your protection anyway. You're just a drunk with delusions of grandeur."

A look of pain flickered across Gwaine's face before he covered it with a smile so quickly that Marise wondered if she'd been imagining things.

"Be careful then. You never know what's out there."

Marise rolled her eyes at his melodramatics and stepped outside, Helana and Moira in her wake.

"I can't believe you told him that Mari," Moira scolded, shortening Marise's name in the way she only did when she was upset. "It was awfully rude of you. He was just trying to be chivalrous."

"He was being stupid, that's what he was doing. He has to know that we've done this before. And with that Mary girl right there. It's insulting to think that-"

"Marise, couldn't you tell that he was serious? He looked honestly concerned about us."

"And just because you're scared of him breaking your heart does not give you the right to break his!"

Moira's voice was shrill after Helana's gentle one, and Marise couldn't believe they were ganging up on her. What had happened to the closeknit group they were normally a part of? What made it so personal to Moira that she'd say something like that? And he didn't seem to be breaking his heart up over her, what with the other redhead in his arms. Her cheeks burning with both embarrassment and anger, Marise sped up as if putting distance between herself and the Dancing Boar could leave the bitter emotions behind.

"You know, Marise, I am actually hungry," Helana said after a few feet of silence. "I think I might want to stop in somewhere."

"I know this nice little pub where they have the most delicious chicken," Moira offered, in what Marise could tell was meant to be a peace gesture. "We could all go."

"I think I'll just go home," Marise responded, trying and failing to hide her whirl storm of emotions.

She left them behind without a goodbye, knowing she was acting childish. So what if they had sided with Gwaine? She knew by morning they would be friends again and the girls would help her forget that she had ever had such a foolish crush on him, but for now it was almost like she wanted to stay mad.

But the farther Marise walked, the creepier the darkness began to feel. She'd walked home this way plenty of times, just like she'd told Gwaine, but never alone. Either the girls or Morgana had always been with her.

A gust of wind blew something against her legs, and Marise scuttled away from it, backing into an empty fruit stand.

"What are you doing out so late girly?" A large man asked, coming between her and her path home.

Marise took a deep breath, willing him to return to his dark hole in the alley. When he didn't move, she stepped forward, ignoring him.

"I'm talking to you Yelana!" He yelled, grabbing her arm as she tried to dart around him. He let out a deep breath right into her face, and she could smell the alcohol he's consumed. "I know you've been running around with that physician!"

"I am not Yelana, I am Lady Marise and I demand you release me."

Marise didn't allow her voice to tremble, not even a little.

"I don't believe you!"

Oh well, it was worth a try. Diplomatic reasoning failing, Marise began to struggle against his hold.

"Oh no Yelana, I'm going to take you home and make you wish you'd never run away from me."

"Let her go!"

While Marise had never had an actual conversation with the owner of that voice until that very morning, she was becoming quickly familiar with it.

"Gwaine," she gasped.

"Is this the man you've been fooling around with?" The drunk yelled, flinging her away into the wall as he made a lunge for Gwaine. Once Marise's world had stopped spinning, she saw that Gwaine was easily sidestepping the man's attacks, acting as if it was some kind of joke. Annoyed with his carelessness, Marise stuck her leg out in front of the man, watching impassively as he fell to the ground.

"Now that we're done with that, do you still care to escort me home?"

Gwaine grinned, offering her his arm, which she took willingly.

"I told you that you would need some help."

"I do believe I was the one who took him down," Marise challenged. "You just provided a distraction. If you had waited a few more minutes before showing up, you would have found I can take care of myself."

"Is this about that woman in the bar?" Gwaine asked suddenly. "Is that why you're so angry with me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She was just some girl," Gwaine began, but realized his mistake when Marise glared at him. "Look, I wanted to set Percival up on a blind date, but when I got her in there it turned out that she wanted to be with me, not him. I left her there and came after you."

"Why?"

"That Anna girl whispered something about you being really upset with me this time. She said I should go explain, so here I am. I didn't mean for you to think that I asked both of you out on the same day."

They walked in silence for a time before they reached the castle door that Marise used as an entrance.

"I guess I was wrong about you," Marise offered, glancing at him over her shoulder, hand already on the handle.

"Does this mean I can court you?" Gwaine asked, grabbing her hand and holding it.

"Don't press your luck," Marise warned, "but if you want to ask tomorrow . . ."

"Thank you for the second chance," Gwaine said, pressing his warm lips to her hand, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time.

Marise grinned, pleasure on her face.

"Until tomorrow."

Well, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. This was one of my favorites to write. And if you didn't like Marise's character, don't worry, All the OCs are different and have their own personalities. Please review if you wish, it makes me happy when you choose to take the time!


	4. Helana

Hey everybody! Well, I didn't get many reviews for the last chapter, which disappointed me, so please, if you have anything to say about the story, good or bad, please review! I've been toying to do a story of the guys' version of each chapter, but I probably won't if I don't get a little encouragement. I do hope you enjoy this chapter though!

Disclaimer: Sorry all you sue happy lawyers, I'll bow to copyright laws and say that I do indeed not own Merlin.

Chapter Three: Helana

"Helana, do you think you could take these things to Guinevere's house for me? I would get one of the errand boys to do it, but Uthar is having them run around doing the strangest tasks for him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he had gone a little . . . never mind."

"I'll do it right way," Helana answered, taking the bundle of clothes from Mistress Geena, the woman in charge of all the maids. "But why do all these clothes need to go to Gwen?"

"They're all the Lady Morgana's old things," Mistress Geena confided, leaning close so that no one else moving down the hallway could overhear. "Prince Arthur gave me very strict instructions that they were to be given to Guinevere so that she might have first pick before the other Ladies are given a chance to take the things as their own. Why Guinevere would need such elaborate clothing is beyond me. "

Helana shrugged, but on the inside she was struggling with the truth. She knew that Gwen and Arthur had been secretly courting for quite a while now, and even more often now that King Uthar had become sick. Not that anyone in the castle believed that it was a sickness of body keeping him locked away in his chambers. No one dared say anything though, better to keep quiet on the off chance that he really did recover.

Helana truly hoped that the whole situation would work out in Gwen's favor. It would have been easy for Helana to resent her, but thanks to her easygoing nature she never had. Not when Gwen was promoted to Lady Morgana's personal maid and she was kept a general maid for the entire castle. Not when Gwen had begun to turn the heads of young men with her simple beauty while Helana went unnoticed. Not even when Helana went without a single beau while Gwen became the object of both Sir Lancelot's and Prince Arthur's desires.

So it didn't bother her that Gwen was getting new dresses while she was stuck wearing the same dresses she wore week after week. Okay, maybe it bothered her a little bit, Helana wasn't a saint after all.

Traversing the streets of Camelot while carrying a heavy basket that could not get dirty was not easy, but it was better than cleaning the latrines and chamber pots that dotted the castle.

"Gwen, are you in here?" Helana called, kicking the door with her boot in order to knock without the use of her hands.

"Is that you Helana?" Came the answer from inside before the door was opened. "What are you doing here?"

"These clothes are Lady Morgana's old ones," Helana replied. "I'm supposed to let you pick out the ones you want before anyone else gets to them."

"Truly?"

Helana smiled at the hesitant sound in Gwen's voice. She knew that the other girl had hardly ever received new clothes before she became Prince Arthur's love.

"Yes, now go through them and see if any of them strike your fancy."

"You first," Gwen encouraged Helana, gesturing for the basket to be placed on her small table. "I think you deserve it more than I do. Ever since Morgana left I've had too much time on my hands to be of much use to anyone."

"Gwen," Helana reprimanded. It was times like these that had prevented her from ever resenting Gwen. Who could resent a person who was as pure and generous as a unicorn. Not that Helana would admit to thinking that anything of magical origin had any worth, to think like that would bring about sure death. "You have been helping everyone by keeping the castle organized and doing little odd jobs. Also, I don't think Prince Arthur will be eager to set you back to serious work anytime soon."

"So, I've heard you and the girls have been becoming very close to the knights of the round table," Gwen said, turning to knead the dough she'd been working on when Helana walked in. "Two of you are courting them now, isn't that right?"

"Yes, we couldn't be happier for them. Sir Gwaine and Marise argue like cats and dogs some of the time, but they always make up more quickly than I can blink. Of course, Sir Leon and Lucinda may as well have been courting for an age the way they get along."

"And there's no real reason for them not to be together, they're of the proper social statuses, their parents are either not a factor or in approval. Sometimes I just wish. . ."

Gwen's voice trailed off, and her hands stopped their simple movement.

"Gwen, are you alright?" Helana asked.

"Right as rain Helana!" Gwen exclaimed, wiping her eyes as she grabbed a pitcher. "I'll be right back, I just need some water for this. I meant what I said you know, I expect you to have a dress picked out by the time I return."

Helana sighed as Gwen rushed out of the cottage. She would never understand the messiness of love. Lucinda and Sir Leon's was easy enough to grasp, they were both too shy to have approached the other, and it was pure luck they ever began courting. Marise and Sir Gwaine were as impossible to understand as why Merlin was so dedicated to Prince Arthur, but at least they had the money to get away with it. Gwen and Prince Arthur were just ridiculous! Couldn't they just go about simply and fall in love the same way? Why did everything have to be the stuff of ballads with them?

There was one thing she would never do, Helana decided as she began to sift through the dresses, and that was fall in love. Upon finding a brown one that matched her eyes, she held it up to herself, trying to imagine what it looked like on her; it wasn't as if she was rich enough to carry a mirror with her to check.

What happened next would be something she would never forget.

The sound of a man's voice calling out "Gwen" from inside the house startled her into flinging the dress back into the basket with the others. Turning she saw a tower of clay bowls being balanced by a man who was desperately trying to step without tripping over the small dog running about his feet.

Grinning, Helana went to take some of the bowls from him when his precarious balancing act began to fail. He tripped over the puppy, tipping forward enough that the bowls began to slide away from each other. Knowing how expensive that many bowls would be, Helana jumped forward to catch them as he righted himself. By some miracle she had caught all but one, and that one had fallen onto the pile of clothes.

"Shoo pup," she commanded the dog, swatting at it with one hand while setting the bowls onto the table.

"Thank you," the young man said as he also put down the bowls he had managed to keep a hand on. "You're one of Gwen's friends, are you not?"

"Yes, I'm one of them," Helana replied, "and you're Elyon if I'm not mistaken. You have grown up from the young man who lost a footrace against me and had to repay me with a kiss."

"Of course you had to bring that up," Elyon blushed. "You haven't changed at all Helana."

"I'm going to take that as an insult."

"I didn't mean it as one," Elyon protested so vehemently that Helana had to giggle so that he would realize she'd been joking. "Now, what were you doing before I so rudely interrupted you?"

Now it was Helana's turn to blush, reaching up to scratch her ear.

"Gwen was having me pick out a dress," she admitted, eyes downcast.

"Which one are you leaning towards?" Elyon asked, and Helana picked it up from the pile. "Let me see it."

Blushing an even brighter shade of red, she held it up to herself. He circled her like a lion, making exaggerated noises of approval.

"You do that dress an honor. You make it look even more beautiful."

Helana couldn't believe he'd said that, and she hurriedly folded the dress so that she'd be able to carry it to the castle, and began to search for a conversation subject that would take the focus off of her.

"Take a seat Elyon, and tell me of your adventures."

"You're going to invite me to sit in my own home?" He teased, raising an eyebrow before sitting, gesturing for Helana to do the same. "I feel as if we are children again, telling each other stories of make believe."

They sat there for quite a while, talking on subjects from swordfights to cleaning to Prince Arthur to Elyon's sudden elevation to a knight of Camelot.

"You have quite the important job to do," Helana commented, standing and stretching her legs discretely. "And I had better get back to mine."

"Wait Helana," he protested, getting to his feet as well. "Can't you stay here a little while longer?"

"I've been away from my duties as long as I can," Helana admitted regretfully. "I'll probably receive a tongue wagging as it is. It was nice to see you again Elyon."

"I haven't changed that much since I left," he called before she could reach the door.

"What do you mean?" Helana asked, turning back towards him.

"I owe you for saving those bowls," Elyon insisted. "So I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow night. I haven't stopped repaying my debts you know."

"You wouldn't be you if you did," Helana commented, letting out a squeak when he closed the distance between them and playfully kissed her. It was so quick that she barely had time to respond, but it took her breath away.

She wasn't the only person who's breath had been taken away by the little display.

"Elyon, what's going on here?"

Gwen's voice was understandably confused having just found her recently returned brother kissing her closest friend in her cottage, despite the fact that they had not seen each other in years. The reprimand in her voice would have been more effective if she herself did not look so disheveled. Her hair was wilder than it was when she had gone out, and her eyes were shining even in her confusion. Added to that the fact that the pitcher she was carrying was empty, and it was easy to tell that she had met up with Arthur.

"May I take that as a yes?" Elyon asked Helana.

"You may Elyon."

And if you didn't like Helana's character, don't worry, All the OCs are different and have their own personalities. Please review if you wish, it makes me happy when you choose to take the time!


	5. Anna

Hey everyone who reads my little author's note! I hope you are having a wonderful day, or night as the case may be. You're about to read one of my favorite chapters, though I don't really know why it is one of my favorites. To encourage a little reviewing, I'm going to institute a little reward. Leave me a review telling me who your favorite OC is and why you like her, and whichever character gets the most votes will get a larger role in the second to last chapter, which is where Merlin gets his girl. It's still in the works, so your vote could change the direction of the chapter, which will be extra-long. But, review or no review, I hope you enjoy my story and keep reading!

Disclaimer: Sorry all you sue happy lawyers, I'll bow to copyright laws and say that I do indeed not own Merlin.

Chapter Four: Anna

For as long as Anna could remember her family had owned and worked in one of the busiest taverns in Camelot, The Dancing Boar. When she was young, both her father and her mother had forbidden her and her siblings to do so much as to set foot in the place. But during the years of the Great Purge, her parents didn't dare leave them home alone. Anna's days of working in the tavern had begun in the kitchen, kept out of the eyes of the drunken men who frequented the place.

She might have remained working there for her entire life if the day had not come when one of the server girls had fallen ill just before 'rush hours'. Desperate, her father had reluctantly taken the 14 year old Anna and set her to serving. At fourteen she'd been painfully shy and still immature enough to be overlooked by the men, so the experience had not been as bad as she had imagined. From then on she became a substitute for any of the jobs within the tavern. When one woman stopped coming to work, Anna just took over. It wasn't until she'd reached sixteen and her younger sister had begun to work in the tavern as a server that they'd had their first spot of trouble.

A man had been flirting with Dawn, Anna's sister. Anna couldn't bear it, and offered to take the table instead. They'd been crass and rude, but she had just continually answered them in the negative. It was obvious that her father had yet to realize what was going on, but when one of the men had grabbed her and tried to plant a kiss on her while he pulled her onto his lap, her father took notice. His angry roar had silenced the tavern and frozen the man. After that a new sign was erected, "If you reserve the right to touch the serving girls, we reserve the right to cut your hands off." A bit extreme, but it had proven extremely effective.

The experience caused two very different reactions in Anna and Dawn. Dawn, the more pretty of the two, had decided to use her looks to get larger tips. Anna had been frightened to return to the job, but, shy as she was, she didn't want to be replaced by one of her younger sisters. She preferred them safe in the kitchen, with her then pregnant mother. It was not a good time to be spending more money than strictly necessary, and so Anna had marched into the tavern the next day, sure in her father's ability to protect her.

Which was what had brought her to this position, Anna realized riley. If she wasn't so tenacious, she could have been back home by this time of night.

It was late and only the most drunk of the drunks was still in the tavern. All the couples had already left, and save a few drunken groups, it was pretty much regulars. The man whose wife and daughter had been executed during the Great Purge, the man who's brother had been shot by Morgana's archers, the man who was hardly more than a boy that had been crippled in a monster attack last spring.

Anna moved amongst them all, head kept low, tankards held high. It would soon be closing time, and she'd be able to collapse into her bed.

"Wench, get over here!"

Plastering a smile on her face, she marched over to a dirty looking man who was sharing a table with his equally dirty looking friends.

"How can I serve you sir?" Anna asked pleasantly. It was her rule for herself, no matter how much she disliked a customer, every coin helped to send her siblings into trades.

"You can serve us wench," the man commanded, "by sitting down and sharing a drink with us."

"Sorry, my father doesn't allow the serving girls to eat with male parties."

Anna tried to sound apologetic, but she had apparently not been convincing enough.

"Oh, so you think you're too good to share a drink with honest, hardworking men like us?" The man growled at her before calling her a string of names so vile that Anna flinched.

Frantically, Anna turned about, looking for her father. Normally, he wouldn't allow the men to even talk to her like this. She had just realized he was gone when the man grasped her arm.

"Let go of me," she demanded, trying to stay calm while her mind flashed back to that night so long ago.

"Don't think we will," the man told her, leaning his bearded face towards hers in a mock of intimacy, while downing another tankard of ale. "Think we'll take you hunting with us instead."

"Dawn?" Anna called out, trusting her sister to realize what a bad situation she was in. When there was no corresponding answer, she realized what must have happened. There had been a liquor shipment scheduled for that day, but it hadn't arrived. If it had arrived late, her father would have taken her brother to help him unload the wagon, and Dawn to give the deliverer a tongue lashing.

"My name's Don," the man said, pulling her closer to him, "how'd you guesh?"

Anna evaluated her options. She could scream, but the tavern was built to keep sound in, and any of the men inside who would have helped her were too drunk to do so. Only Dawn and she had been left to serve that night. These men would take her out the front door, while any shipments came to the one in the back, so she would never be seen by her family.

"I'll ask you one more time to unhand me," she said, her voice firm despite her fear. Bluffing appeared to be her only way out of this situation.

"And if youknowsh what'sh good for you, you'll be quiet," the man said, using the hand not clutching at her to gesture to the knife at his belt.

"I think the woman said for you to let her go."

The male voice was quietly confident, and Anna was surprised who it belonged to when he strode into her line of sight.

"Sir Percival!" Anna could only hope the relief in her voice was not evident. She'd forgotten all about him, tucked into the corner as he normally was. He came to the tavern almost every night, kept both his words and his hands to himself, never got drunk (except for the one time he had come in with his friends), and always tipped well. All of that had quickly made him one of her favorites.

"Anna," he said, giving her a quick dip of the head while his eyes stayed on the men in front of him. "Now you good men, why don't you release the girl and go about your business."

"Who do you think you are, a knight?" the man asked. "Sir Percival?"

He must have been drunker then Anna had thought, to have not recognized the meaning of the Camelot Red Percival was wearing. His buddies were not so drunk.

"Wait Don, maybe he ish a knight," one of them suggested before hiccupping loudly.

"No way," Don said, gripping Anna's arm tight enough to leave bruises. "Thish is no knight. Not unless the knights have gotten dumber!"

He laughed loudly while Anna tried to follow his logic.

"Unhand the girl," Percival warned once more.

"No."

And so a fight began. Percival pulled Anna from the man's grasp as if the man was a child before slamming the man's own tankard on his head. The man went down for the count. Two of his friends were aroused enough by this show to go after him together, while the one who had spoken up scrambled out of the tavern. Anna was surprised how quickly he had them lain out on the floor with their friend.

"Now Anna, do you have anything cold?" Percival asked her quietly, as if the fight had never happened. "I'm afraid I wrenched your wrist when I pulled you away from that man. I apologize for the mess though, I'm willing to pay for any damage I caused."

"We have an ice box under the bar," Anna told him dazedly, allowing him to guide her to it. "And you certainly won't be paying for anything. You don't owe us any apologies, you saved me."

Percival remained silent as he pulled out a few ice chunks, wrapped them in a cloth, and then pressed it to her wrist. His other hand ghosted over the bruises that were already forming on her arm.

"At least allow me to apologize for those," he whispered. "I should have intervened sooner. I would have had I known what would happen. I was expecting your father to step forward as he usually does."

"You saw all of that?"

"I did, I was watching you."

Percival looked nervous to admit what he had been doing there that night, but quite a few things suddenly clicked in Anna's mind. While it may be said she was shy, it was never said she was slow.

"So the reason you come here every night is not to benefit from the fine ale and food, but to watch over me?"

"Well, the food is very good," Percival hesitated. "But yes, you are my greatest draw to this place. I've enjoyed seeing you with your friends, but it is here that I can see your courage most plainly. Your friend Helana told me of some of what's happened to you here. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to come here day after day."

"I've never heard you say so much Percival," Anna commented, at a loss as to what else to say.

"I can be myself with you Anna. I've . . . I've never felt like this with any other woman."

His every word was full of earnestness, and his eyes were anxious to see her reaction. It had always struck Anna that the strongest and largest of the knights should be so quiet and gentle. On impulse, she leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Good King!" Her father cried upon entering the tavern to see three men on the floor surrounded by spilled ale and his daughter behind the bar, kissing a customer. "What did I miss?"

Anna took one look at the amusement and sudden fear shining in Percival eyes and burst out in peals of laughter.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Percival was difficult to write, because at the time I wrote it, all I knew about him was from Season 3's finale! And to answer Shep114's question, Lancelot will have an OC.

And if you didn't like Anna's character, don't worry, All the OCs are different and have their own personalities. Please review if you wish, it makes me happy when you choose to take the time!


	6. Interlude

Hey everybody who reads my little author's note. There's not much to say today, though I do have a couple of questions to answer. First off though, the favorite OC (outside character for those who don't know) review competition will go through this week. So far, Marise is the winner. But leave me a review telling me who your favorite OC is and why you like her, and whichever character gets the most votes will get a larger role in the second to last chapter, which is where Merlin gets his girl. But, review or no review, I hope you enjoy my story and keep reading!

To answer the couple of questions I've gotten this week, here are the answers! First, I wasn't planning on doing more chapters after the Merlin one, but if I get enough interest in that I'll give it a try. But all of the couples will be getting more time in the last chapter, so we'll see how things have progressed for them. I was also thinking about doing a boys point of view of the same period that this chapter covers, but once again that's up to you lovely readers!

Disclaimer: Sorry all you sue happy lawyers, I'll bow to copyright laws and say that I do indeed not own Merlin.

Interlude

Merlin had no idea why he kept ending up in The Dancing Boar with his companions. He'd like to be able to blame it on Gwaine's bad influence, but ever since he had begun courting Marise, his visits to taverns had dropped considerably.

"Merlin," Arthur called. "Stop straining your brain overthinking things and come sit down with us."

Mentally calling Arthur as many names as he could, Merlin took a seat at the round table Anna had reserved for them. She was bustling about the table, setting everyone's drinks down. Merlin's gut clenched as he noticed how her hand rested on Percival's arm for a moment before she began to walk towards him.

"I put juice at your spot," she told him under her breath as she past him. "No drunkenness for you tonight. I figured you'd be least likely to want to get drunk, and I'd hate to have so many important people witless with no protection."

Merlin grinned at her despite the bitterness in his stomach. What made Percival so lucky as to have a girl like Anna? Or, he wondered, his bitterness spreading, what had gotten any of these men their ladies?

"Glad you could make it Merlin," Lancelot said jovially, patting him on his back as he took a seat next to Arthur. "The Prince here kept telling us you might be too busy mucking out stables to make it tonight."

"Just because I dropped that bucket of dirty water on his head, he has to make a big deal out of it," Merlin grumbled, glaring in Arthur's direction.

"There were spider webs in that water I'll have you know!"

"The main point is that we're all here now Prince Arthur," Elyon commented.

"What news was so important that you needed to bring us here, sire?" Leon asked curiously.

"Well," Arthur paused, "let's get some drinks in us before I start telling you."

Merlin rolled his eyes and began to sip at his grape juice while the other men took hearty swigs of their liquor. Great, it was news that even Arthur needed liquid courage to get out. This could only end in disaster.

"Alright," Arthur said, standing up without swaying. He wasn't drunk enough to begin to slur his words, but he soon proved his tongue had loosened itself. "Guinevere and I are to be married at the end of this month, no matter what my father says. We're finally going to do it."

"That's wonderful!" Gwaine cried. "Another round for the Prince here!"

Leon also congratulated the Prince, while Merlin and Percival were quieter about it, both of them knowing something more about the situation with Gwen. Nobody expected Elyon to comment and he met their expectations, the only phrase he said being, "And you'd better watch out for her, or Prince or not I will give you a pounding you'll never forget."

When Lancelot began to go at his drink with quite a bit more vigor than normal, Merlin switched his juice for Lancelot's liquor.

"We need to be sober to get his lot home," Merlin reminded him just as another voice overrode his.

"And of course we needed to have a follow-up meeting about the mission I gave each of you," Arthur added.

Merlin groaned loud enough to be heard, earning himself a glare. Awkwardly, he took a deep swig of Lancelot's drink. He'd been hoping Arthur had been too drunk to remember much of that night, especially the challenges.

"I was surprised," Arthur continued, turning to his right side, where Merlin and Lancelot sat, "that it was you two who have still to find a girl to care for. Merlin I can understand, you're too much of a clout to get one right away, but Lancelot, I'm surprised at you. Even Percival, no offense, has found a woman to be with, and he hardly speaks? What's holding you two back?"

Merlin took another swig of the drink before finding words he didn't remember thinking about pouring out of his mouth,

"I had a woman."

"Really Merlin, what happened to her?" Arthur's voice was eager and pleased.

"You killed her," he muttered in reply, taking another swig of the drink, having found it to taste quite good. "After I went through all the trouble of hiding her and promising to protect her, you killed her!"

"Are you serious Merlin? Since when do I go about killing women?"

"Since she turned into a monster cause of some curse. Then she became the stupid lady of that stupid lake and now I'll never see Freya ever again thanks to you!"

"He must be drunk already!" Lancelot declared, slinging an arm about Merlin's neck and stealing the tankard away from him. Leaning closer to him he whispered, "What happened to staying sober?"

"Right," Merlin gasped, his eyes moving restlessly, as if they were following stars. "What did you drink?"

"It's very potent," Lancelot replied. "I am used to it, however, and apparently I'm a great deal better at holding my drink then you are."

"Anyway," Arthur said, standing up once more, though he was still eyeing Merlin strangely, "you two have a deadline. I want to see you dancing with women you care about for our wedding ball in a month's time."

"Great."

Don't you love random interlude chapters? I hope you enjoyed seeing Merlin again, and please feel free to leave a review telling me what you did and did not like about the chapter. Only one more chapter before Merlin's, so I'd better get finishing his chapter! Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Moira

Hey all of my loyal and silent readers! And a special hi to all of my reviewers! Marise won the competition by a landslide, so she and Gwaine will get a special focus on them in the last chapter which will be coming out in two weeks. Sorry to spring the change on you guys, but I finish my second semester of university in about a month, and it's kind of getting to be crunch time for projects and such. I was also thinking about doing a boys point of view of the same period that this chapter covers, but once again that's up to you lovely readers! But, review or no review, I hope you enjoy my story and keep reading!

Disclaimer: Sorry all you sue happy lawyers, I'll bow to copyright laws and say that I do indeed not own Merlin.

Chapter 5: Moira

Moira watched Gwen hand a flower to Prince Arthur, her eyes aglow with what Moira could only define as love. He took it and tucked it into his pocket, bestowing her with a quick kiss before heading to the arena.

Moira felt like throwing up. Why was Gwen with Prince Arthur? How was that fair?

"Hey Moira, what's wrong with you?" Anna asked quietly. "You haven't been talking very much."

"Just people watching," she replied candidly, earning laughs from her friends.

"You could have made a good spy," Marise said, looping her arm through Lucinda's. "You can be quiet as a church mouse and you have the eyes of a hawk. Plus, as a servant no one notices you."

"Thanks Marise," Helana said dryly. "It's nice to know where servants stand on your invitation list. You have the tact of Sir Gwaine when he's drunk out of his mind. Obviously you've been spending too much time with him."

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it,"Marise grumbled. "But, just to prove I'm not an ignoramus, I'm sorry Moira. I was trying to give you a compliment, but I went about it in the wrong way."

"That was actually nice of you Mari," Lucinda commented, her face lighting up at Marise's attempt.

Moira was just glad to have gotten out from under the eyes of her friends. She hadn't taken any offense at Marise's words anyway, she enjoyed using her position in the castle to be able to watch and observe the many people inside it.

Some people would define that as snooping, Moira liked to call it discreet investigating.

The girls wandered to the stands, ready to watch the fight. Moira caught the sight of a dejected looking Lancelot heading to his tent.

"Where are you going?" Helana called after her. "The competition is this way!"

"I think she knows that," Marise snorted.

"I wonder where she's going then?" Lucinda questioned.

"Who knows?" Anna put in. "This is Moira we're talking about."

Moira's heart was beating rapidly as she drew aside the curtains to Lancelot's domain.

"Moira? What are you doing in here?"

He was straightening out his chain mail, obviously having just pulled it on. His eyes were studying her seriously, as if to pull out the reason for her presence by shear will alone. He had yet to shave that day, so his cheeks were darkened by stubble.

"I wanted to wish you luck in tournament today," she replied, cautiously stepping farther into the tent. "I didn't want you to feel forgotten."

"And why would I think that?" He asked, only the slight twitch in his cheek revealing the lie he was trying to pass off as truth. "All the knights have exchanged best wishes for each other. We are all well wished for."

"Lancelot," Moira threw in, "I know about Gwen."

His eyes flew from his chain mail to her eyes, seeking for the truth behind her words there.

"So why are you here?" He asked, his eyes hardening even as his posture collapsed.

"To wish you luck," Moira answered in a rush, the hardness in his eyes prompting her to turn away and begin striding out of the tent. "Good luck!"

She was just lifting the flap of the tent when her courage returned to her in a rush, resulting in her spinning on him.

"No, that's not what I came here to say!"

The words must have come out of her more vigorously than she intended, for his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I'm here to tell you that it's unfair!" Moira continued, waving her arms wildly. "It is not right for you to love her so much and then to just give her up to Prince Arthur just because he loves her too! Where is it a rule that a knight must give up everything he desires for the sake of a king? I certainly don't remember that rule!"

"Moira," he put in, his eyebrows reaching higher the more she showed her agitation. She wasn't surprised, she was quite sure she'd never been this loose with her anger before. "Moira it wasn't just that the Prince I was thinking of. I had no life to offer her at the time, no home to bring her to. She could have all of those things and more here."

"Did you even consider how that might make her feel? Like she was just something you were willing to give up at the drop of a hat?"

Moira cut off before a sob could escape her throat. Turning away from him she tried to get herself under control.

"Moira?" Lancelot's voice was soft and concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me today," Moira exclaimed, waving his considerate words away. "All I wanted to do was tell you something and here I am preaching away and becoming emotional. I'll leave you to your sport-"

"Moira."

This time Lancelot's voice was as firm as the grip her had on her arm, restraining her.

"Yes?"

"Pray tell me, what was it that you wanted to tell me that has had you so upset?"

"It's just . . . there was a knight once," Moira confessed, looking anywhere but into his soft brown eyes. "I loved him whole heartedly. We were both so young, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. But then he heard of a blacksmith who had his eye on me, and he stopped coming to meet me. He sent me a letter full of pretty words about sacrifice and love, but what did he know of it? He didn't know my heart. I would have gladly remained a maid serving him my entire life rather than marry a man I did not love."

"What happened?" Lancelot prompted, his hand still resting on her arm, preventing her from moving.

"He died in battle and I was left behind once again," Moira bit out. Her eyes were truly swelling with tears now. "And I sent the blacksmith away. How could I love another when my heart was full of him? Is still full of him?"

Angrily she swiped at her eyes, dashing the tears away before she spoke again.

"So how could I look on while you broke your heart over Gwen, a girl who you left behind in much the same manner? Her heart belongs to him now, she can never return it to you. Should never return it to you. You broke it and he helped it heal."

"May I ask why you felt the need to dredge this up? Do you think I don't notice the way she looks at him? Do you think I don't notice how her eyes sometimes fall upon me while filled with a pain greater than I can describe? Did you think it was an easy choice for me, giving her up? What kind of man do you think I am?"

His words were uncharacteristically sharp, and Moira collapsed upon an overturned box. He eased himself down to her level.

"And why does this matter to you, my little mouse?"

"Because I thought two broken people might find a little happiness with one another," Moira whispered. "Because I had begun to see us as friends who might do this for each other. It was a foolish thought."

"No," Lancelot protested. "It was a wonderfully thoughtful thought. I wish I had thought of it."

"Are you making jokes?" Moira asked incredulously.

"Someone has to, or I shall enter the tournament today crying like a woman – not that there's anything wrong with that," Lancelot answered at the warning glare she sent him. "Come Moira, help me with my battledress."

Surprised at his sudden change of topic, Moira did as Lancelot asked, fastening and straightening things he couldn't quite reach. She was just pulling back when a piece of her hair became stuck in a bit of his chain mail.

"Ow!" She cried as she thoughtlessly pulled back. "I think you've taken a prisoner Lancelot!"

He grinned, gently reaching down to tug her hair free without causing her too much pain. His fingers rolled themselves over the lock, as if memorizing the texture.

"Lancelot, my hair please so I may quit your presence."

"In exchange for something."

Moira could feel her eyes widening.

"In exchange for what?"

"I want to give your idea a try," Lancelot whispered, still playing with her hair. At his words she jerked it out of his hands. "I don't know if I can ever truly love again after Gwen, but I'm willing to try."

"And I don't know if I'll be able to love again after William," Moira warned. "What a pair we'll make!"

"But at least we'll know where the other stands."

"In love with someone else," Moira broke in, starting to smile now. "But let's not tell people that part."

"No, I don't imagine people would take it very well," Lancelot admitted, smiling wryly.

At that moment, the ceremonial music began to play, making both of them jump.

"You'd better get out there," Moira said, reaching for his helmet. "Can't have you being late."

Lancelot's hand intercepted Moira's, preventing it from reaching its destination.

"I cared about you before all of this happened," he whispered intensely. "I don't want you to think that because I still love Gwen that this is some kind of meaningless obligation for me. I will learn to open my heart to you. And I won't ever hurt you intentionally."

Moira, short though she was, reached up on her tiptoes to give him a brief kiss. She was surprised at the electricity that flashed through her that, while not as intense as the feelings she felt with William, still made her toes curl. Trying to hide her feelings, she grabbed the helmet and carefully placed it over his blushing face.

"I don't care what happens out there today," Moira told him, "But I want you to do your best. If Arthur wins, I don't want it to be because you let him because he's the Prince. He doesn't have to have everything."

Before he could walk out, Moira pressed a fresh handkerchief into his hands. It was embroidered with purple flowers and vines in the shape of her initials.

"For luck."

This is the second to last chapter of the story, and I hope you enjoyed it! I had a hard time writing romantically for Lancelot, because he loves Gwen, but I also want him to be happy. So I created an OC who had the same type of issue, but from the opposite side of things. Please let me know how I did, and sorry for posting it so late! Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Malandra

Well, this is Libros, finally updating this story! Sorry it has taken me so long! Updates will be more frequent from now on, I promise! I got back from an 18 month mission a couple months ago and during that time I didn't have access to this sort of thing. Hope you enjoy finding out a little more about our new character!

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><p>Chapter 6 : Malandra<p>

Malandra walked down the streets of Camelot, knowing she should be cautious, but excited anyway. Despite her efforts not to look like a tourist, she couldn't help swing her head around wildly in wonder. There were people everywhere, more people on just one street than lived in her small village. Two children were darting around trying to lift a coin or two, old women whispering in huddled groups, and in general such a press of people that Malandra could hardly catch her breath. If this was what it was like so early in the morning, she could only hope she was far gone come the busier hours of the day.

Then there was the sight of the castle- looming over everything. Looking at its imposing sight, Malandra had to repress a shiver. All her life she'd been warned about Camelot, that to enter the city would be to seal her doom, and now here she was, walking its street's like she belonged there. If it wasn't for the desperate need of Meadowroot by one of her mother's oldest friends, Malandra would never have come this far.

"Hey, hoh, get out of the road!"

Malandra obeyed the command instantly, looking up to see a closed carriage barreling down the small road. The sounds of a man yelling, "faster, faster," could even be heard from where Malandra stood.

"Idiot," Malandra muttered scornfully. "On a road like this, someone could get hurt."

Not even a second after Malandra's mutter, the irony gods seemed to act as a child's doll in the road caught her eye. Instantly she knew what was going to happen. And she was right.

The carriage and its frothing horses were close when the pale black-haired girl broke from the crowd and ran to pick up her doll. She looked up and stared in horror as the horses bore down on her. Her feet seemed to have frozen in place. No one else was moving to help her, and Malandra had only seconds to act or be forced to watch the girl be trampled to death.

"Recath la ora!"

Malandra stood breathing heavily, her palm outstretched toward the now still carriage, her back against the shaking child, who'd taken hold of Malandra's dress and was clinging to it. The road was silent except for the sound of the horse's heavy breathing, and Malandra's, which almost matched it. Her hand was close enough to them to feel the warmth of their breath on her skin.

Too close for comfort really. And it didn't take long before the silence was broken by the man inside the carriage yelling, "Witchcraft!" It was too late for Malandra to run away, she was already surrounded by the people who had just shortly before been cowering from the carriage.

"Lady," the child implored, tugging on her dress. Resigned to her fate and seeing no point in recklessly trying to escape, Malandra leaned down to better hear the girl. "Can you help me?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, her eyes watching the carriage carefully. There were soldiers in red closing in, but they seemed to be waiting for some kind of signal. Whoever it was who was racing through the streets would be getting out any second now. Malandra's lips quirked despite her mood as she replied, "I just did."

Whatever the girl was planning on saying was lost as the carriage door opened, banging against the carriage. First emerged a man's boot, expensively tailored pants and tunic, and finally a head, topped by a golden crown.

"King Uther," Malandra whispered, her voice shaking as she tried to hide her trembling by grasping her skirt in her hands. The words, "I'm dead" flashed through her mind, and she questioned her decision to calmly await her fate.

"You are hereby charged with witchcraft! Guards, seize her!"

"My mother wants my heart," the girl whispered, even as guards jumped forward and took hold of Malandra's arms, dragging her away. Malandra turned to watch the girl try to run after her, a baker woman taking hold of her shoulders to prevent the hasty action. "But she saved my life!"

There was a quiet rumble among the crowd. The soldiers paused and Malandra could feel their tension through their hold. The resistance, if it could be termed that, did not last long however.

"That was an attempt on my life, and for it you shall burn!"

From then on the trip to the castle passed in a blur of staring faces and frantic thoughts. The people in need of the Meadowroot, the reason she had come to Camelot in the first place, would die. The little girl would feel betrayed. The villagers back home would wonder what happened to her, would wonder why she had not returned. She would die.

Cobble turned to stone under Malandra's feet as they entered the castle. She wasn't sure when the tears had started, but by the time someone stepped in front of her he was nothing more than a blurred shape.

"Where are you men taking this girl?"

"Your father has accused her of witchcraft Your Royal Highness," the guard to her right said, gripping her arm tighter.

"My father has left his room?"

The shock clear in the voice that Malandra could only assume belonged to Prince Arthur made it obvious that the King hadn't left his room in a long while. Malandra did her best to blink the tears out of her eyes in order to be able to see better. She had always wanted to see the Prince with her own eyes, and perhaps that could be the bright spot in her current torment.

"He must have sire. Honestly, I had no idea he'd left until he started calling for guards to arrest this girl."

Now Malandra could feel the gaze of the Prince on her. The perfect moment to look up at him came and went. She couldn't bring herself to do it, to see either revulsion or pity. Both would hurt too much.

"Take her to the dungeons. She may await her trial there."

Her head snapped up at this and she planted her feet as they tried to pull her away. Her resistance wouldn't be affective for long, it was only surprise that had gained her the moment.

"My trial?" She choked out. "I didn't know I was to get one."

"Everyone gets a trial in Camelot," Prince Arthur responded. "Oh, there you are Merlin!"

Malandra was being marched away as she heard Prince Arthur say something back to what must have been a quiet question about her.

"Apparently my father left his rooms today," the Prince sounded incredibly tired. "And what is the first thing he does? Accuse a young woman of witchcraft."

Whatever else they said was lost to Malandra as turning the corner took them out of her hearing. Once they had descended a flight of stairs, she got a view of the dungeons and instantly wished she never had. They were dirty and dank, causing her to sneeze as she was locked into a cell, her hands and feet bound to heavy chains. Shrouded in darkness, Malandra finally allowed her spirit to collapse and the tears to fall in torrents.

It was within just a few hours that Malandra heard the sound of quiet footsteps coming in her direction. The sound didn't make sense to her. Why would someone that light of foot be coming down to the dungeons?

"You certainly don't look like a witch," said the young woman as she rounded the corner and caught sight of Malandra. "Don't worry though, even if Uther can't see it, they'll get you out of this. I know they will."

"Who are they?" Malandra rasped, moving her hand to her throat at the pain her whisper had brought her. Choking on her sobs had done more harm than she had realized.

"Oh, you know, just everyone," the woman said, including a flippant hand gesture. "I brought you food and water. "

Gingerly Malandra reached through the bars, taking the loaf of bread and the mug of water. The chains linked to her wrists chattered at the noise, and she noted that she barely had enough chain to go that far. The woman's face took on a look of sympathy as she glanced at them. Malandra took a bite of the bread and swallowed before whispering her thanks.

"My name's Helana. What's yours?"

"Malandra."

"Well then Malandra, don't you worry about a thing. We won't let any more innocents be put to death as witches. You'll be free by morning, you'll see."

Hope filled her breast. Free? She had barely reconciled within herself that she was going to die. Now this woman assured her that death was not her fate. But the way Helana's hands were gripping the iron bars of Malandra's prison and the sincerity in both her words and in her gaze forced the truth out of Malandra's mouth. She would risk no one's life for a lie.

"If being a witch is a crime, then I am guilty and deserve to be put to death."

Helana's hands fell away from the prison bars, and then she backed away as if they'd suddenly burst into flame.

"You. . . you are a witch?"

"But I don't hurt people," Malandra insisted, trying to make herself clear. She had never actually told anyone she had magic before. It was much more difficult than she'd hoped. "I was trying to save the girl, not kill the king."

"Helana!"

"Yes?"

Helana's eyes looked wild as she responded to the man's call. She looked seconds away from warding herself from evil.

"They need you upstairs! Lady Marise says it's important."

The young woman was seemingly eager for the respite, and she immediately began to retreat from her position near Malandra's cage. The final frightened glance Helana sent her before she rounded the corner made Malandra's stomach turn and the last piece of bread stick in her throat. She forced herself to drain the water before she went to hide herself as close to the dark corner of the room as her chains allowed.

No one had ever looked at her like that before, like she was something scary or dangerous. It was the type of look one might give a rabid dog, or a fox, not her. How was she supposed to convince anyone of her innocence if they were looking at her like that?

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><p>I imagine you already realized this, but Malandra's going to get a few chapters worth of story. Hers is going to be the granddaddy of them all and will be finished off with a story from someone else's point of view for the epilogue. Let me know what you think so far!<p> 


	9. Trials Make Us Stronger?

Hey everybody! I was really happy with the response I got for the last chapter, so please keep reviewing and letting me know what you think! Your favorite parts, your least favorite parts, whatever! Soon we'll be getting more into Malandra's interaction with some of the other characters, it's been a little slow going so far! And if any of you want to take a guess at who the knight is who gets singled out a little bit in this chapter, I'd love to see your thoughts!

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><p>Chapter 7 : Trials Make us Stronger?<p>

It wasn't long before Malandra heard footsteps coming towards her. Malandra contemplated standing to project herself as a confident young woman, but decided she'd rather not try to be something so far out of her reach at the moment. Additionally, standing would only put her shaking knees front and center. Hopefully the herd of elephants coming towards her would be going past her for some other prisoner kept in this dark, cold, and lonely dungeon.

It was a group of men who finally appeared and stopped in front of her cell. Four of them looked to be simple guards while the other two wore the uniforms of the Knights of Camelot. Both of them looked somber as they opened the door, though the one with the brown scruff looked outright sad. That was certainly not a look Malandra had been expecting.

Now she moved to stand on her feet, having to grab onto the wall when she realized her legs had fallen asleep. The knights stepped forward and kept her standing as they unlocked her shackles. Already the strips of metal had rubbed her skin an angry red. Having freed her the knights took up place beside her, with two guards both ahead of her and behind her.

"Six men for one girl?"

"Six men for one witch," one of the guards behind her ground out.

"No talking," warned one of the guards in front, and the knight who had looked saddened earlier pressed on her arm as if to warn her from making further comment.

The rest of the walk was silent, the only noised coming from the sounds of the armor the knights wore and the swish of Malandra's skirts. It wasn't long until they reached a large set of doors guarded by two men.

"That the witch?" One of them asked.

"The accused witch," the knight who Malandra was growing more grateful to every second, corrected. "There is no reason to assumer her guilt yet."

"You clearly haven't been here long," the man teased, his face twisted in an unpleasant smile. "They're always guilty."

The doors opened and Malandra's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't merely the king she'd be judged in front of. There was a whole roomful of Lords and Ladies—and plenty of servants too. They lined the walls all the way to the throne where King Uther sat. Her breath began to come in little pants and she could feel her heart racing. If her entire village had ever gotten together in one place, they would just barely have equaled the number of people in this room.

The King stood.

"We hereby accuse you of using magic in an attempt on my life. The sentence for your crime will be death."

"Father, we haven't held her trial yet."

The speaker's voice was respectful, but with an undercurrent of frustration. Blonde, with strong features, he radiated power and authority. The crown on his head marking him as Prince Arthur was almost unnecessary. His eyes when they met Malandra's were sharp, but not unkind.

"What is your name?"

"Malandra, daughter of Hyacinth."

No one reacted to the name except an old man standing near the king, who whispered urgently into the ear of a servant with a red kerchief.

"And so you have magic Malandra?"

The Prince's question snapped Malandra out of her observation. How was she supposed to answer that? Should she flat out deny it? Should she come up with an elaborate story telling of her absolute innocence or . . .

"Yes, I have magic."

The assembled crowd let out a collective gasp and began to chatter as Malandra's guards pushed her to her knees. She could hear the ring of swords being drawn from scabbards and the hair on the back of her neck rose up.

"I knew it!"

Prince Arthur quickly overran his father.

"Truly, you have magic?"

Somewhere within herself she found the strength to answer his question calmly.

"I never intended to use it here. I was only to drop off some herbs and leave. But then your father," here she realized she was being too bold and her calm was lost to slight panic. "He almost ran over a child by running his horses to madness in town. She couldn't have been ten years old! If you had the power to save a child, wouldn't you?! I couldn't let her die!"

Complete and utter silence followed her outburst. Everyone was staring at the king, whose face was turning several shades of red.

"Seeing as she's confessed," the king said, giving his son a glare, "her execution will be carried out as previously stated. Take her back to the dungeons, don't let her excape."

No one spoke in anything louder than a hushed whisper as she was escorted out of the room. Malandra did her best to avoid their eyes, knowing the fear she would see would be her undoing. Just as she reached the doors she glanced back at the throne room one more time, hoping her words had made a difference to someone. Her feet tangled as she caught the eye of the old man. He didn't look frightened or angry, like she had expected. Instead he looked merely concerned.

She lost eye contact with him as she was wrenched back to her feet by one of the guards and prodded forward. Malandra soon found herself pushed into her cell, and she allowed the momentum to carry her into the corner. The knights followed her in and she kept her eyes on the dirty gray wall in front of her as they bound her arms and legs in chains. As the sounds of the door clanging shut and the lock clicking echoed through the passageway Malandra felt her knees give out.

She was being executed, that was that. There would be no last minute rescue, no escape. She had no friends to defend her, no one to care that she would be gone. The village in which she had grown up would miss her of course, but they had prepared themselves for this. They had warned her that going to Camelot would bring about her death.

Which was why she didn't dare turn around or glance out the small barred window the cell was provided with. As part of their warnings, the villagers had been explicit in describing each step in the execution of a magic user. That window, her only connection to the outside world, would be filled with a view of the square in which they were building the pyre they would burn her on. To look out would be to look upon her death.

The longer Malandra looked at the stone wall the greater the desire to look out the window became. Having forbidden magic since she was barely old enough to say her name, however, had taught her something of control. There were plenty of things she wanted, but that she would never have. So instead of pressing her face against the bars of the window, she turned instead to the slowly shrinking patch of light on the floor.

Judging by the light it was early evening when the shadow of a person's head appeared.

"Lady, lady, are you in there?"

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><p>Sorry guys, I really didn't want to leave it there, but I didn't want to wait too long before I put out the next chapter! I wanted to do this yesterday, and have a lot more in it, but I just didn't have time. Apparently professors don't take the need to write fanfiction into account when they assign a huge workload.<p> 


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